A fine disguise

In an earlier energy fanned with unnumbered plumes, floating with song and spread their painted wings. The red, the scarlet, the whispered fans of inky marks. it is one form of the riddle -the transformation of the image from one medium to another. The out speaking red, your wound never was Heaven. Yet bemused by the star, the glimmers at you mouths edge, the right hand corner.
You unseen. You heard. You smiled.